Little Gidding
by Bridgie
Summary: (An update at last!) Death said nothing. Nothing at all. In the dark distance, Harry heard the heavy beating of wings.
1. Dream Kingdom

Little Gidding:

Dream Kingdom

Author's Note: I own none of these characters, unless you count Thanatos, who is such an archetype he can hardly be attributed to any one creator anyway. This is created purely for the entertainment of myself and other fans of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series.

The Dark Lord did not sleep. Ever. He had not slept since his return to power. He had not slept for years before that, even before his exile. Immortals do not sleep, and Voldemort fancied himself a demigod.

Besides, he liked the night. Night was his element. He liked the dark moonless and starless, illuminated only by the faint grey-green glow of his pallid skin and his demon-red eyes. When all around him was obscured by the night, he felt himself to be at the center of the multiverse. Perhaps this was what it was like before any world was created, before the first Word set all things in motion. Sometimes he liked to sit and speculate on what that Word was, and wonder if he had it, if he could not remake all things to suit himself.

The Riddle mansion, where he stayed, settled in the cool of the night, creaking and groaning like some vast creature in pain. The tap in the bathroom down the hall dripped off and on. And now and then, in the room below him, Wormtail whimpered softly in some dream. All else was still. But a feeling was growing in him, a sense of another presence. He reached out with all his senses, but felt nothing corporeal, aside from Wormtail and a few insects. Nagini had gone out hunting.

Speculating aloud, he murmured, "Is that you, Potter? If the link between us allows you to spy on me, I would very much like to know it…or perhaps you are astral projecting? Traps can be set to catch spirits as well as flesh, you know…"

There was no answer. He had not expected there to be. Still, the feeling of the other presence increased. He fondled his wand pensively, unsettled, but determined not to show it. Immortals do not get the creeps. A creak in the floorboards behind him made him stiffen and turn suddenly. "Who's there?"

"You do not know me…" the voice that answered him sounded both sad and cold. It was just barely loud enough to be audible, but as it spoke, all the sounds around it were muted, making the words almost tangible in the dark.

"Who are you?" Subtly, he gathered power. Whether flesh or spirit, the trespasser would pay. But first, Voldemort wanted to know how the stranger had crossed his wards.

"As I said, you do not know me. But you will." The voice was closer this time, and there was a threat in the tone.

"Lumos!" A red glare lit up the room. A few feet away from the Darklord's chair stood a figure that looked like a boy, naked, except for a length of black silk around his loins and a wreath of some sort of herb in his hair. He was slender, as lean of build as Voldemort himself, and his ribs showed. But his face had the soft roundness of youth. His hair was shoulder-length, black and wavy, his skin as pale as porcelain, his eyes bright black, like obsidian shards. He held no wand, but in one hand he bore what looked like an unlit flambeau. He held it upside down. Shadows clung to his back and shoulders.

"Can you see me now, Thief?" the boy asked calmly. Whispers danced along his statement.

"As well as you can me, Trespasser," he replied in a tone of soft menace.

The stranger smirked. "This is as much my domain as yours. I have followed you, unwillingly, for some time."

"Indeed? And why have you not shown yourself until now?"

"I thought to, once, fifteen years ago. But you were blind to me then. I have not had the opportunity again, until now."

"You barely look fifteen yourself."

"And you look in your thousands. Looks can be deceiving. You are more of a child than I am."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"Is truth an insult?"

"Sometimes."

The boy studied him, nodding gravely. "You are no fool. Still, you will not be forgiven; all your cleverness will not save you when your time comes."

"I gave up fear of reprisal long ago." Voldemort's eyes gleamed.

"Fear serves no purpose," the boy agreed, "but Balance will not be denied. You have given great pain, and you will receive no less in return. The score is not settled, and you are not turning it in your favor."

"I suppose you're here to tell me I have one last chance?"

"No. You have no chances left. You will suffer." The black eyes gleamed. "I am here to demand my freedom."

"From me? If I do not know you, how can I be holding you captive?"

The youth shook his head and arched slightly. The shadows behind him unfurled slowly into a pair of great, black, feathered wings. They spanned the room, one tip touching either wall, and on them, in ceaseless motion, were eyes. Human eyes, animal eyes, insect eyes, eyes of great beauty and great ugliness, eyes in every color of the rainbow. The pupils flickered this way and that, looking sightlessly around the room, and the lids fluttered and blinked, heavily lashed with black down. There were too many to count, it seemed, too many to fit in the room, but they were there nonetheless, scattered across the surface of the wings like stars across the midnight sky.

"Do you know me now?" asked the boy, his voice soft and resonant.

"I know that you are no human." Voldemort replied evenly, determined not to show his sudden misgiving.

"You are not as wise as I had thought," the boy smiled.

"Thanatos," the Dark Lord gripped his wand.

"Much better. Yes, that is one of my names."

A jagged smile crept across Voldemort's face. "And I hold you captive? Without being aware of it?"  
The myriad eyes glittered angrily at him. "Through no virtue of your own, I assure you. There is a spell you use…"

"The Killing Curse…I had heard that its secret lay in binding Death to the will of the caster. I assumed that was merely a pretty metaphor. I see I was mistaken."

"Do not look so pleased, Theif."

"Why not? Not only have I achieved immortality, but I have Death Itself under my command."

The shadowy wings wrapped around Thanatos' thin white form. "I take no issue with your murdering," he said quietly, "there are many butchers in this world. I take no issue with your use of magic to do so. You are not the first Dark Wizard to cast your realm into chaos, not even in this century--"

"No, there was Grindelwald before me …it was he who invented the Killing Curse…and yet he rarely used it."

"He had proper respect for me. And he has been rewarded for it."

"Has he? He's dead, last I heard."

"Yes. His score is settled. He is in balance." Thanatos moved closer, only his face visible beneath the eyed wings. "You are unbalancing me. You are overusing the Avada Kedavra. I am a force of this world. I will not be held accountable for your powerlust."

"And what will you do about it? If you could take me, you would have done so by now."

Thanatos' face went, if possible, even whiter. "I will find a way. Mark my words, I will find a way. Grindelwald was evil, but he was a man. You are only a wicked, angry child, and by a child I shall break your power. Mark my words, Thief."

The red gleam from Voldemort's eyes lit Death's face. "That has been tried once before. I am still here."

Thanatos sneered, "It will not fail a second time."

The Darklord's wand hand jerked suddenly, "Crucio!"

A bolt of red light struck Thanatos' eyes and crackled over his skin. He staggered back and hissed with pain, but the spell failed to reduce him to a writhing, screaming mess the way it would have a human. The hand holding the flambeau emerged from between the dark wings, and the crackling red light was drawn into it. Thanatos straightened, panting and glaring. "For that, too, you will pay."

Grinning, Voldemort raised his wand again, "Avad--"

But Thanatos was gone.

Disappointed, the Dark Lord sighed and put the wand away. It would have been very interesting to see what effect, if any, the Killing Curse would have had on Death Itself.

But there would be other opportunities.

He was sure of that.

************

In the boys' dormitory at Hogwarts, Harry sat up abruptly, panting. His scar burned, and the rest of his body throbbed with it.

There had been a dream. He remembered the Riddle Mansion. Voldemort. And a boy…with wings? That wasn't right, surely…he closed his eyes and fought for the memory. After several minutes, the ache faded, and the memory of the dream had grown no clearer. Harry groped for his glasses, then picked up a quill and his diary. He had begun keeping a record of his dreams this summer. Most of them were mercifully vague, but there were many entries--far too many--recording blood and fire and screams of agony. Harry scribbled down what he remembered of the dream, then drew a small sketch of the winged figure in the corner of the page. Maybe it had just been a dream, but if there had been any truth to it at all, he wanted to record it. He would take the diary to Dumbledore tomorrow.

He set the diary aside again, then took a few sips from the glass of water by his bed, calming himself. He took off his glasses, then sank back into the pillows with a sigh. He closed his eyes determinedly, tuning out the lingering unease of the dream by thinking about Quidditch practice. Before long, the golden glimmer of the snitch was leading him into the dream-realms.

He was soon so deeply asleep that he neither felt the wind nor heard the beating of enormous, dark-feathered wings.

Author's Note: To be continued? Maybe, maybe not. This is something of a departure from my usual style. I have ideas as to how to continue it as a multi-chapter story, but it may be better left as a one-shot. Opinions?

Also, for those of you who've read 'Pig in a Wig', the next chapter is about half done. I hope to have it up within a week or two. I'm a bit stalled on the prequel for 'An Unexpected Regret', but I'm still working on it. Wish me luck…


	2. Shakes the Memory

Shakes the Memory

A/N: Well, you all talked me into it. ^_^ Disclaimer from first chapter applies.

__

Every street lamp that I pass

Beats like a fatalistic drum,

And through the spaces of the dark

Midnight shakes the memory

As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

~T.S. Eliot, 'Rhapsody on a Windy Night'

The next morning began normally enough. Harry woke a bit late, rushing to get washed and dressed, and sent Ron and Hermione off to the dining hall without him, promising to join them as soon as he was ready. He made sure to put his dream journal in his bookbag. There would not be enough time to see Dumbledore about it before his morning class, Divination, but during the lunch hour he could easily steal a few minutes.

He slid into his usual seat at the dining table, between Ron and Neville. Hermione sat across from him, Ginny Weasley on her left. Fred sat on Ginny's other side, and across from him, next to Ron, was George. Harry relaxed as he began to butter his toast. The strange dreams that had haunted him last night began to dissolve in the light of daily routine. He smiled at Ron, then paused, staring. At the end of the Gryffindor table was a strange figure.

"Who's that?" he asked.

Harry's innocent query was met by a chorus of blank stares. Fred and George raised eyebrows in unison, Hermione stopped stirring her tea to look up at him, and Ginny set down her glass of pumpkin juice to look around.

"Who's what?" Ron asked thickly, trying to swallow a bite of sausage at nearly the same moment.

Harry gestured to the stranger, studying him from a distance. The other boy had a delicate build, high cheekbones, almost effeminate features. His fingers were long and delicate, his skin was pale, and his hair was black, framing his face in feathery waves. "I don't recognize him," said Harry, "is he new?"

George snickered, "You're joking, right?"

Hermione looked concerned, "That's Mateo, Harry…he's been here since our first year…Mateo Theofanos."

"He's joking, Hermione," Fred replied, "I know you don't think you need an alternate, Harry, but he's a good flyer…"

"A what?" Harry blinked.

"Are you feeling all right, Harry?" Ginny asked softly, "Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey…"

"I'm fine…an alternate what?"

"Seeker," Fred rolled his eyes, as if this should have been obvious.

"He's a Seeker? For Gryffindor??" Harry stared, "Since when?!"

"Since last year…he helped out with some informal pick-up games while you were busy with the Triwizard Tournament. Angelina thought he was good, so when she became captain this year, she asked him to be your alternate. We've *been* through this, Harry…it's not an insult to your abilities, no one's trying to replace you, we just--"

"But where did he come from?"

"Little Gidding." Hermione answered, "I told you, Harry, he's been here as long as we have. Don't you remember the detention in the Forbidden Forest? First year?"

"Yeah, I do, it was you, me, Draco, and Neville."

"And Mateo," Neville added timidly, "He went with you and Draco, when you found the dead unicorn. Remember? Malfoy startled me, and then Hagrid made us switch partners…"

Harry shook his head, "I've never seen him before in my life!"

"You've seen Hagrid plenty of times." Ron blinked.

"Not Hagrid, him!" Harry gestured at Mateo.

"Okay…second year," Ron suggested helpfully, "He was the one that suggested we ask Moaning Myrtle how she died, remember?"

"You and I came up with that idea!"

"Third year," George added, "The Quidditch match, where you…fell off your broom because of the dementors…he was the first one there. He and I carried you off the field. You wouldn't remember that, of course, but…"

"Next you'll be telling me he was in the Triwizard Tournament last year."

Hermione winced. "No," she said gently, "but he was a good friend of Cedric's…"

"Maybe you've taken a few too many bludgers to the head, mate," Fred looked torn between amusement and concern.

"I think you should go see Madam Pomfrey," Ginny reiterated, biting her lip.

"I feel fine," Harry protested weakly, "I just…"

"Good morning," a low voice said, just behind Harry, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I meant to ask what chapters we were supposed to read for Divination…"

Harry turned to find the boy in question standing a few feet behind him.

"Twelve and Fourteen," Ron answered, then added drily, "the orb warned Professor Trelawney that it might be wiser to skip the unlucky-numbered one."

Mateo chuckled, "How thoughtful of it." His voice was shy and soft, a bit like Neville's, but far lower in pitch. Oddly, when he spoke, everything around him seemed quieter. The muting effect was visual as well, and seemed to include the area around him. Colors seemed softer, lines seemed less intense. Harry took his glasses off to clean them, then looked again.

The strange wizard noted his stare and smiled, "All right, Harry?"

Something about the question sent a chill down his spine, "Er…actually…I'm not…feeling too great…I think I'll go up to the infirmary…" He stood, not taking his eyes off Mateo.

"Are you dizzy?" the boy asked mildly. "I could walk you there, if you like."

"No! Um…no…I'm fine…I'll just…go on my own." Harry backed away, then turned and half-ran for the dining hall door, almost running into some Hufflepuffs on the way out.

His friends watched him go. "Did…did you two have a fight?" Hermione asked Mateo.

"Mm? No, not at all…but I believe he did have nightmares last night. Perhaps he's still a bit muddled from them." The dark youth smiled forgivingly. "Mind if I take his spot?"

"Sherbet lemon! Fizzing whizbee! Sugar quill! Pepper Imp!" Harry shifted anxiously, racking his brain for possible passwords up to Dumbledore's office. He was quickly running out of wizard sweets. "Canary cream! Ton-tongue toffee! Help me out here," he implored a nearby portrait. To his surprise, a voice behind him answered, "Try 'Dragon's tongue'."

Harry jumped and turned around. The Headmaster was right behind him, smiling pleasantly. "You wanted to see me, Harry?"

"Yes, I--" he jumped and whirled again as the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office began to shift with a faint, rocky, grinding noise.

A gnarled hand rested on his shoulder. "Is something wrong?"

The young wizard looked up into the venerable professor's eyes. There was a look of grave interest on his face. "A vision?" he suggested gently.

"N-no…well, I had a funny nightmare," Harry conceded as he was guided onto the stairs, "but that's not why I'm here. What's Dragon's tongue?"

"A mixed drink, actually, consisting of Firewhisky, fruit juice, and a little club soda. I had to stop using sweets as passwords sometime." His eyes sparkled mischievously.

Fawkes was asleep on his perch, a delicately-snoring ball of red-gold feathers. Harry refused to sit, his eyes wandering over the portraits of past Headmasters. He only recognized one: Dippet.

"Nonpareil?" Dumbledore offered.

"No, thanks…I'm not hungry…" Harry swallowed, "Professor? How can you tell if someone's been Confounded? I mean, like with the Confundus Curse?"

The older wizard folded his hands. "Well, Harry, there are tests, of course, but generally their behavior gives them away."

"What behavior?"

"Confusion, mostly, as the name implies. Particularly in cases where what the victim is coerced to believe something that stretches his or her imagination. The Confounded person has a gut instinct that what he has been forced to believe is not true; however, his logical mind, which is affected by the curse, conflicts with that instinct. The warring of the two can lead to insanity in extreme cases. The Confundus, while not one of the Unforgivables, is an illegal curse."

Harry sat down slowly, shaken.

Dumbledore studied him keenly. "Who is it you fear has been Confounded, Harry?"

"M-my friends…Ron and Hermione and Neville and Ginny and the Weasley twins."

"It would take a wizard of extreme power to confound that many people at once. Are they behaving in an unusual way?"

"Behaving…? Well…no, not really, but there's this strange boy, and they all say he's been here since first year, but I *know* he hasn't."

Dumbledore frowned at the wall for a moment. "What is this boy's name, Harry?"

"Mateo something…"

"Mr. Theofanos?" Dumbledore's frown deepened. "How long has Mateo been here, Harry?"

Harry eyed the Headmaster warily, unsure what to make of his suddenly altered tone. "Just since this morning as far as I can tell…"

Dumbledore stood slowly and moved to an ornate teakwood cabinet in the corner of the room. He tapped it with his wand, and the door popped open. Stacked inside were several dozen leatherbound ledgers. He picked one up and opened it, flipping through the pages. "Well, well…" he looked up at the Sorting Hat, which was perched on a shelf above his head. "Do you remember Mr. Theofanos?"

"I remember all of them," the Sorting Hat answered placidly. "Every pupil who's ever laid hands on me."

"And…?"

"He'd have made a good Ravenclaw," the hat sighed, "but he insisted on Gryffindor. He was a bit shy when he came to us, but I understand he's opened up a little since."

Harry stared, dumfounded. "But…but…that can't be right! I *know* I've never seen him before this morning! If it was just that I hadn't noticed him or something, that would be weird but it would make at least a little sense. Ron and Hermione and the others kept telling me about things he did with us, and I can remember the things happening, but I don't remember him being there!"

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses gravely, then approached Harry and laid the book in his lap. It appeared to be a list of all the students in his year. The third name from the top of the page was 'Theofanos, Mateo'. "Harry, both the Sorting Hat and these class ledgers are strongly warded. A charm or curse powerful enough to Confound them simply could not have escaped the notice of the faculty."

"But…Crouch got to the Goblet of Fire…maybe someone like that could have--"

The headmaster cut him off gently, "Harry. No. I, too, remember Mr. Theofanos' arrival here, his sorting, and many other events in which he took part. I also remember his mother's school days here." He took the book back, folded it, and returned it neatly to its place. "I think we had better have Poppy take a look at you, Harry. I'll walk you to the hospital wing."

He shook his head in disbelief, but made no protest as he was helped up and led from the room.

"No, there's no traces of mana on him at all," Madam Pomfrey said, eyeing Harry through a strange sort of scope made of crystal and iron. "It can't be any long-term curse on the books. They always leave traces."

"What about around his forehead?" Dumbledore asked softly.

"Just the usual."

"Wait, the usual?" Harry's voice cracked. He wasn't used to being submitted to such intense scrutiny, and he was beginning to find the hugeness of Madam Pomfrey's eyes as reflected through the scope unnerving.

"Your scar leaks a bit of power now and then, Harry," Dumbledore told him gently. "Poppy noticed it last year. It doesn't seem to be harmful, however."

"You might have told me," he muttered.

"Severus? Can you think of any potions that might have this effect on him?"

Snape looked over from the corner he had been lurking in thoughtfully. "None that could be administered without his knowledge. Has anyone given you anything nasty to drink lately, Potter?"

"Not outside of potions class," he retorted, then regretted it immediately. 

Snape's eyes glittered dangerously, then he relaxed and smirked slightly. "Then have you partnered Longbottom in potions recently?"

He shook his head.

"In that case, Headmaster, it is unlikely that a potion is the cause of Mr. Potter's memory loss. I hold to my original belief that this entire affair is merely an adolescent cry for attention."

"There's another possibility," Madam Pomfrey said uncomfortably before Dumbledore could reply. "AHMS. He's at the right age."

Dumbledore winced slightly, and Snape's smirk vanished.

"What's AHMS?" Harry's voice squeaked slightly, much to his chagrin.

"It stands for Ashton-Hyberger Magical Syndrome," the mediwitch explained, " It's…found mostly among children and teens from nonmagical backgrounds. When they enter the wizarding world and their bodies get exposed to high magic levels, it sort of short-circuits something in their brains. It doesn't happen to children from even half-wizard families, because they're exposed to magic from birth."

"How bad is it?"

"Early symptoms include headaches, fatigue, memory loss, confusion…It's a chronic, degenerative disease. Rarely fatal, but…most of those who come down with it have to remove themselves from the magical community, or else their organs will start failing one by one…"

Harry sat very still. It sounded like his worst nightmare: being faced with the choice of death or exile from the wizarding world.

"But you don't necessarily have it," she hastened to reassure him at a look from Dumbledore. "Memory loss is just one of the symptoms, after all. It may just be psychological, anyway, ordinary stress can cause memory problems. You should be tested for it, that's all I meant to say."

"Can you run that sort of test here, Poppy?" asked the Headmaster.

"No, I'll have to have a specialist brought in from St. Mungo's, with the proper equipment."

Harry rested his head in his hands, tuning out the remainder of the conversation. As if it wasn't bad enough that he had Voldemort trying to kill him, now his own body had to turn on him. Or his brain, at least. He took a few deep breaths, then looked up to find Snape staring at him expressionlessly. There was deep anger and bitterness in his stony gaze, but for a moment, Harry thought he saw a faint glint of pity as well. It unnerved him more than anything Madam Pomfrey had said.

He stood abruptly. "I want to go back to class."

"I'd rather you stayed here, Harry," the mediwitch pushed him gently but firmly back onto the cot.

"So eager to attend Divination?" Snape queried, his expression resuming its usual mocking quirk, "Anxious to hear dire predictions from Sibyl Trelawney?"

Harry said nothing.

"Hm," Dumbledore patted Harry, "Severus has a point. I believe we'll let Poppy keep a hold of you for the remainder of the day."

"And tonight," Madam Pomfrey insisted, "We don't want him stressed further by nightmares, now do we?"

Nightmares. Harry blinked, remembering his latest journal entry. He ducked to grab his bookbag and pulled out the small book. "That reminds me--I had another dream last night," he told Dumbledore, rifling through the pages. As he reached the most recent entry, he was struck by the small sketch he had made in the corner. The boy with wings. Now that he looked at it again, there seemed to be something familiar about the face; more familiar than was warranted by the vagueness of his memory of the nightmare. He handed the book slowly to the Headmaster, who looked at the scribbled notes and frowned, nodding slightly. "I shall study this carefully, Harry, thank you."

"It was awfully weird…it might have just been an ordinary dream," Harry said slowly, his mind churning with half-formed thoughts.

Dumbledore nodded. "Still, it bears looking at."

After a few mumbled exchanges, both Dumbledore and Snape left the room. The mediwitch fussed with Harry's blankets a moment, then brought him tea and toast and insisted he consume them. At lunchtime, Ron and Hermione stopped by the room for a visit. He didn't mention anything about AHMS.

"It's just a stomach flu, I think," he said, "but you know Pomfrey. I'll be here for a week."

They were appropriately sympathetic. Ron offered to smuggle some sweets in to him, and Hermione offered to help him catch up on the work he'd miss while being bedridden.

"Well, you didn't miss much in Divination," Ron told him. "Trelawney was showing us tarot cards and she went into some sort of rant about death being among us. If you'd been there she probably would have insisted you were in for it. As usual."

Harry chuckled, but for some reason he couldn't put his finger on, it wasn't as funny as it would normally have been.

Dobby brought him dinner: a big bowl of stew, crusty rolls, and peach tart. Harry had little appetite, but if he hadn't eaten on his own, either the house elf or Madam Pomfrey would have force-fed him, so he polished off his plate with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. For the rest of the evening, he read his 'Care of Magical Creatures' text, until he fell asleep with the book still open on his lap.

It was neither a sight nor a sound that awakened him. He opened his eyes and found only darkness; black, pitch black, with only the dim gray outline of the infirmary door glimmering a dozen yards away. He groped for his glasses, which he expected to find on the stand by his bed, but encountered neither them nor the stand but something soft and warm and feathery that sent shivers of mixed terror and joy through his body. His breath hitched, and he jerked back, pulling himself into a crouch and clutching at a bedpost. The book on his lap tumbled off the bed, then onto the floor with a thunk. Out of the darkness a slender white hand crept, scooping up the fallen text and lifting it, then setting it gently aside.

Harry wanted to scream, but his voice would not obey him. He dug his fingers into the wood of the bedpost so fiercely the nail on his index finger cracked. "Who--" he gasped at last.

"Sssssshhhhhh," a gentle voice murmured out of the darkness.

Harry felt his body relax unwillingly, and he sank limply onto his side on the cot. A lean, milk-white form swam into his view, a boy about his own age, with dark hair and black eyes. Fathomless, glimmering black owl-eyes.

"Mateo…?" He asked softly.

"Thanatos," the other corrected, "Mateo is only an assumed name, as is the identity that goes along with it. Assumed for the purpose of…acquiring your attention."

"You've acquired it," Harry said grimly.

He was rewarded with a gentle, terrible smile. And then he understood.

With an effort, Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position, and in a voice that shook only a little he asked, "Are you here for me?"

And then without warning he found himself enfolded over and over again in black feathers and shining eyes, caressed and borne up and studied, looked into and over and through by hundred of thousands of eyes. Gentle eyes, fierce eyes, eyes that dripped tears of silver and crimson, eyes that snapped with hatred and shone with tenderness, eyes both familiar and alien. Harry covered his face silently, and he felt--he *knew*--that there would be nothing more terrible in the multiverse than to be looked into by those eyes and found wanting. Cold hands gripped his wrists and peeled his palms away from his face, gently but irresistibly.

Harry opened his eyes reluctantly, and found himself looking once more into Death's human face. "You have no cause for shame," Thanatos said gently, "And I did not come here to frighten you."

"Am I dead yet?" He asked dazedly.

"No. I am not here to end your life."

"Then why?"

In the dark somewhere, the folded wings rustled. "I need you. I need your help."

A/N: Bit of a cliffhanger. Sorry. ^_^;; Slight change of tone for this chapter, but I expect the heaviness and the lack of contractions to resume shortly. ;-) Actually, I'm glad the reviewers thus far have found the dialogue style appealing rather than stilted. I tried not to overdo it.

I almost left out the bit about AHMS. It doesn't further the plot, but I was so pleased with the character interaction and the idea itself that I couldn't stand to snip it. What do the readers think? Neat idea? Dumb idea? Did I do the right thing by leaving it? Should I try and weave it into the plot somehow?

Thanks to all who reviewed!

Frostbite Panda: That's very sweet of you…only how did you know I was a good author if you hadn't read the story? *confused* Oh, well, I'll take the compliment anyway. ;-) But there's lots of nice long well-written HP fics out there. You just have to search a bit. Look at other peoples' favorites lists (like mine, for example ;-) ).

The Red Dragons Order: Well…I guess he is an angel in a sense. The angel of Death. Thank you for the encouragement!

E: I'm still working that out, actually. But it's going to involve Harry and a lot of danger.

Katrina: Wow. Okay. ^_^

Soymilk: Grindelwald is starting to interest me, actually. Not that I have any fic ideas featuring him, but maybe I can work him into this fic a little. If anyone has any recommendations for Grindelwald fics, email me or leave 'em in reviews. I was going for creepy; I'm glad it came across.

Ozma: Oooooh, thank you for reviewing this one, too! That's really how I see Voldemort, actually, particularly after CoS: sort of an insecure, power-hungry, overgrown boy with a complex. Tom Riddle was such a promising kid, even at the age of sixteen, when he was already going bad. Somewhere along the line his own monomania got in his way. Makes me wonder what happened during the 'lost years'. 

Kynight: Not sure yet, but whatever becomes of Harry in this fic, I can promise you he's not going to die. At least, not permanently. ^_^;;;

Teardrop: I always leave unresolved questions at the end when I can. But I secretly wanted to continue this from the beginning. I just hate to overwork a fic or a picture, and I wanted outside opinions before I went on with it. Thank you for the review and the encouragment!

Melanie: Thank you.

AngelOnFire: *big grin* I'm glad it affected you. I hope this chapter is just as good.

SHU and silverpen: Thank you. I will. ^_^


	3. Falls the Shadow

Falls the Shadow

A/N: Surrealism ahead. Disclaimer from chapter one still applies.

__

Between the desire

And the spasm

Between the potency

And the existence

Between the essence

And the descent

Falls the Shadow

~T.S. Eliot, 'The Hollow Men'

"Why?" Harry repeated for at least the tenth time, his voice weak and plaintive. "Why me?"

He felt absurdly small and vulnerable, curled up in his patched and oversized pajamas. Across from him, at the foot of the infirmary cot, the pearl-black shadow of Thanatos' wings loomed. He could hear the myriad eyes blinking in the dark.

"Because I cannot. Voldemort's hold on me is strong. The only thing that will break it is the alteration of his memory. And you are the best possible person to produce that."

"You're crazy," the young wizard blurted, forgetting his fear for the moment. "I'm only a student, I don't know any memory charms powerful enough to use against Voldemort!"

Death looked amused. "While he is no longer fully human, he is far from invincible. But that is beside the point. You will not use a charm, nor will you require your wand. The truest magic is in the battle of **that which is** versus **that which shall be**. You need only match his will to dominate with your own will to resist him."

"How?"

"You have a pathway to his mind." A silken feather brushed across the scar, making Harry shiver. "You will enter his thoughts and bend them to your command."

"You want me to go into his head?? Is that even possible? And what if he notices me there?"

"Yes, I do. Yes, it is. And he cannot destroy your body through a mindlink, though he could damage your sanity."

Harry gulped, "And why can't you do it? You made everyone in this school think you were a student."

"I did no such thing. I am forbidden to enter the minds of mortals without invitation. To do so would be a Possession."

"Then how…?"

Thanatos waved his hand impatiently, "A minor alteration of reality. I will restore it to its original form shortly."

Harry was quiet a moment, digesting this. "And if I don't agree to do this…?"

"Why would you not? It is in your best interest that he lose his power to cast the Avada Kedavra." Thanatos sounded genuinely puzzled.

"Yeah, well…maybe I don't feel like risking my sanity for it."

Death was silent for several moments. Harry fidgeted. At last, the quiet, muted voice said, "It would be foolish to refuse me."

Harry looked into the ebon eyes defiantly.

"No, no, that was not a threat," Thanatos chuckled, "Merely an opinion. It is not your time yet, and I do not kill for vengeance. But as I said, the results would benefit you, your friends, your world."

"I never asked for this," Harry said angrily, pointing to his scar, "And I'm sick of it! All I did was survive because I was lucky, and because of my Mum. Half the wizarding world thinks I'm some kind of messiah, and the other half thinks I'm a dark wizard worse than Voldemort! I'm not either, and I don't want to be either. I'm just a boy. Why can't I ever be just a boy?!" To his intense embarrassment, Harry started to cry.

A dark wing enfolded him, and he tensed with fear, but all the eyes were closed, and the touch was somehow comforting. "Many children in this world are not permitted to be what they are. Some must grow up too quickly, as you have. Others, I have taken young. Some have had their steps haunted by my shadow from the day of their birth. The world is harsh, and it deals unfairly with the vulnerable. But you have a chance now to make it less harsh and fearsome. While he commands me, Voldemort will never be defeated. Do this for me, and your friends and their children will have a chance at the innocence that has been stolen from you."

Harry took several deep breaths, forcing back the tears and straightening slowly. Dark eyes regarded him thoughtfully, "And while you work, you will have access to as much of my power as your mind can handle. I will not be idle."

The young wizard nodded slowly. "What exactly do I have to do?"

"Dream, as you often have, of your nemesis. Then follow the dream-formed path to him. I will slow time here, so you will not be interrupted, and I will make my power available to you, and guide you from afar as I may. You will make your way through the interiors of his mind, and somewhere within, you will find the knowledge of the spell. I will tell you what to do with it."

"If this works, though, can't he just relearn it?"

"Not if our work is accomplished properly."

"And if something goes wrong?"

"I will attempt to retrieve you."

"And if I can't be retrieved?"

"What would you have me do? If your mind is broken, I can take you, if you so desire. But you must give me your permission now."

Harry rested his chin on his knees a moment, thinking of AHMS. He shuddered slightly, then whispered, "Yeah…Only if there's no possibility of coming back…then, yes, go ahead and take me."

Death nodded calmly, but there was a glimmer of sorrow in his eyes.

"And Ron can have Hedwig. If that happens, I mean. She gets along okay with Pig now that he's calmed down a bit. Or maybe he'd give him to Ginny…" Harry stopped as he realized he was stalling. "Right. Are we doing this now?"

"If you are prepared."

Harry blinked at the familiar phrasing. "I'm…yes…I guess I'm ready."

"Sleep, then."

The young wizard's limbs grew abruptly heavy, and he sank back onto the pillows reluctantly. The black wings rested blanketlike across his body, warming him. His eyes closed.

"I will owe you for this," Thanatos said softly, watching. "And I never fail to repay my debts."

Harry was in the graveyard again, wand out, next to a wide-eyed, apprehensive Cedric. It was dark and light all at once, and gravestones loomed over him, stone angels staring at him with cold, empty eyes. A shadowy shape approached, and a horribly familiar voice said, "Kill the spare."

_No!_ Harry cried out silently, _Not this again! Not again! Cedric, look out!_

But this time, green light did not emanate from the wand. Instead, a familiar pallid figure with shadowy wings sprang forth, white-hot chains encircling his throat and wrists. Swiftly, Thanatos leaped at Cedric, long fingers outstretched, but his face was contorted with anguish.

"It's not his time," he snarled hoarsely, even as he enfolded Cedric in his wings, "Not his time yet…it isn't fair…"

Harry watched in fascinated horror as Thanatos cradled Cedric's body like a baby and planted a gentle, regretful kiss on his forehead.

"I'm sorry," Death whispered, and Cedric's corpse crumbled to dust.

Harry turned and tried to run, but the sound of wings pursued him.

**Harry,** the muted voice screamed at him, **Harry! Stop! Don't run!**

Tense and shaking, the young wizard froze in his tracks.

**Voldemort. He is here. Don't run from him. Go toward him.**

"He'll kill me!"

**This is a dream, Harry. Only a dream.**

With an effort, Harry forced himself to turn and walk back through the tombstones. Wormtail was writhing and whimpering, handless and bleeding by the cauldron. Gathering his courage, Harry stepped over him and approached the fire. The bubbling liquid within smelled of sulphur and incense. Red eyes peered up out of the cauldron at him.

Then a bony, clawed hand shot out and grasped his throat, dragging him into the foul, boiling water. Harry struggled and tried to scream, but his mouth filled with the bilious potion, and he gagged instead. Voldemort's bony limbs entangled him, and he tried to kick his way free. The potion scalded his skin and eyes.

**Don't fight him, Harry. It's only a dream.**

With an effort, the boy stopped struggling. The water seared through his skin, deadening his nerves. Voldemort laughed and tightened his grip on Harry's throat, choking him slowly. He needn't have bothered. His head fully beneath the filthy water, Harry couldn't breathe anyway. He started to black out.

And then it was all gone, and he was alone in the dark. All around him he could see nothing but pitch-blackness. Then a watery white light shivered into existence, dripping from an unseen source and illuminating a trail of blood in front of his feet.

"Thanatos?" Harry whispered softly, after rubbing his throat to make sure the flesh wasn't torn.

**I'm listening. Follow the blood. It will take you into his mind.**

Obediently, Harry began to walk forward. "What will it look like?"

**Your own mind will resolve it into something familiar. **

He nodded, but said nothing.

The blood trail went on and on. It seemed like miles, and the darkness was eerie. It pressed inward upon Harry's eyelids and whispered threats into his ears. He shivered. Then he stopped short as he thought he saw something move in the pitch black.

**Do not stop. And do not look.**

Reluctantly, he resumed walking, "What is it? There are things out there…"

****

You are on the astral plane. There are creatures here. Some are friendly, some are not. 

"Will they attack me?"

Silence.

"Thanatos? Will they??"

**Perhaps. I will help you fight them, if they do.**

Harry clenched his fists nervously and focused his eyes on the blood trail before him. He thought he heard a child laughing off to his left, but he didn't dare to look. He heard the high whistling of night-birds and the buzzing of insects' wings. At length a stream stretched before him, narrow, but swift and rocky and dark. A wizened old woman was bent beside it, humming out of tune as she rinsed bloody clothes in the water. She looked up as he approached.

"Wha' are you seeking, leanabh?"

Harry said nothing.

**The Bean Nighe, the Washer at the Ford, **Thanatos' voice said,** She is a type of fae, Harry. She knows me. You may speak to her.**

"I'm…looking for Voldemort," Harry said quietly.

The old woman nodded, grinning toothlessly, "Ye're on th' right track, then. Ye'll need to cross th' stream."

"Can you help me?" He asked.

"Sha. For a price."

"What price?"

She flung a red-stained shirt at him, "Scrub th' stain out."

**Do what she says. She's a powerful ally to a mortal.**

Harry knelt on a rough rock and plunged the shirt into the water. "Is there soap?" He had done laundry plenty of times at the Dursleys', but it had involved machines and stain-removing gels, not rocks and icy, running water.

"Nihaer," the washer replied, "You use your elbow grease." She laughed loudly at her own joke.

The young wizard scrubbed at the bloodstain with his fingers, holding the shirt underwater, but the red stain seemed to spread instead of shrink. In frustration, he beat the shirt on the rocks.

**Harry…ask her whose shirt it is.**

"Why?"

**Because she is a harbinger. In the same way that a Bean Sidhe screams to warn of impending death, the Bean Nighe washes the clothes of someone destined to die soon.**

Harry gulped. "Um…Ma'am?"

"Yes, leanabh?"

"Whose shirt is this?"

The Bean Nighe paused in her work and sniffled softly, "So sad, that…poor woman. And wha' her children will do without a mother, I'm sure I don't know…" She stared into space distractedly, wringing out the skirt she'd been scrubbing.

**Keep her talking. Ask about the children.**

"How many children are there?" Harry asked after a moment's thought.

"Six," the Washerwoman replied querulously, a muffled sob in her voice, "Four girls and two boys."

"Can't their father take care of them?"

"No," she rubbed her eyes, "he died of a car accident a few years ago…they're all alone in th' world, poor little things…" And with that, she began to bawl loudly.

**Now, Harry! Catch her tears with the shirt!**

The young wizard jumped, then leaned forward and held the dripping shirt under the weeping fae-woman's face. A few tears hit the bloodstain, hissing and steaming, and suddenly the shirt was dry and clean. Harry stared, then stifled a triumphant grin. "It worked!"

"Ciod?" She looked up, then blinked tearily at the shirt. "Oh…aah…" She turned slowly and frowned at him, "That was sneaky, that was."

"Sorry…?" He answered warily.

She sighed, shaking her head, then waved a hand at him dismissingly, "A promise is a promise. Up!"

Harry felt himself rise into the air, levitated gently up and over the stream. The Bean Nighe set him on his feet on the other side, right where the blood trail resumed. Despite her care, it took him a moment to recover.

**Thank her.**

"Oh! Right! Thank you, ma'am!" Harry shouted across the stream.

"Luck be with you, boy," she replied casually as she resumed her work.

The young wizard went on his way, keeping his eyes glued to the trail. He heard howls and snarls now, and once he thought he heard a dragon roar. Remembering the Hungarian Horntail, he wrapped his arms around himself defensively.

He felt relief at first when the sounds died away, but it wasn't long before the silence became as oppressive as the dark. "Thanatos…" he whispered, "Where are you?"

**Ssssh! **came the reply, **They'll hear you!**

Unnerved, Harry bit his lip. A faint, wet, rhythmic noise echoed out of the darkness ahead of him. He paused for several moments as the sound continued, listening and wondering apprehensively what it was. At length, he inched forward cautiously, and almost laughed with relief as the source of the sound came into view. It was a small white kitten crouched by the trail, lapping delicately at the blood.

**Go around it quietly, Harry.** Thanatos sounded tense.

"It's just a kitten," he said, incredulous.

Then the tiny cat looked up at him. Its eyes were an opaque pale blue, without pupils, and its mouth and whiskers were red with blood. It hissed at him fiercely, rising and bristling. To Harry's horror, its mouth stretched wider and wider as thick, spiky red serpentine necks erupted from it, each of them hissing and striking at him in turn. He leaped back with a cry of fear as fangs sliced through the hem of his robes. The serpent-heads growled at him, and the little feline body behind them crouched and wriggled, ready to pounce.

"Thanatos!" Harry cried in a plea for instruction, but before Death could answer him, he heard the sound of thundering hooves.

A great, shaggy, black, horselike creature plunged into the circle of light. Its eyes were very round and glowed pale green, and it pawed the ground with a cloven hoof. The snake-tongued kitten whirled to face its new foe hissing again. In response, the equine creature bent its head, from which two twisting horns sprang, and plunged forward, driving the feline out of the light and away.

**The hunt is on, it seems, **Thanatos mused after a moment.

"What *was* that??" Harry asked, stepping forward again hurriedly in the hopes of getting away from the marauding creatures.

**The dark thing was a phooka. What the other was, I do not know. However…the blood trail you are following is only a visual metaphor set up by your own mind. In reality it is a pathway of mental energy…**

"Then it was…feeding off my energy?"

**Merely tasting, I think. Getting the scent of your mind, so to speak. For a later hunt of its own.**

Harry shivered, "Will it come back?"

****

Not if the phooka catches it.

The young wizard was silent for several moments. "Am I nearly there yet?"

**Almost.**

As he went on, the darkness around Harry began to lighten until he realized he was on a country road, lit only by stars. The blood trail was harder to follow here, as it moved over rocks and puddles and patches of dirt, and Harry was so intent on it he didn't notice he was being followed until he felt the warm breath on his hand. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a vast, canine shape, jet black and shaggy, like Sirius' dog form, but nowhere near as friendly looking.

"What is it…?" he whispered under his breath to Death, not daring to turn and focus fully on this new danger.

**Don't look at it,** Death instructed, **And don't speak to it. It's Black Dog. You might know it as the Grim.**

Harry clenched his fists, saying nothing.

**It is only curious. Pretend not to notice it, and it will not harm you.**

Skeptical but obedient, Harry continued to follow the trail, trying to ignore his massive escort. For its own part, the Grim trotted along companionably enough on silent paws. Whenever Harry stopped to get a closer look at the trail, Black Dog sniffed at the blood curiously, or at Harry's feet. Its mouth, when it panted, was very red, and it had very white, sharp teeth. At length it seemed to grow bored with him and followed farther and farther behind until at last it gave one deep, rolling bark and bounded away into the fields.

"That was a Grim?" Harry said when he'd recovered.

**Yes.**

"Isn't it a death omen, too?"

**To some. To most it is simply a rather nosy creature of the fae persuasion. Black Dog is what you think it is. But look! You are nearly at the end of your journey.**

Harry looked ahead of him and saw a high bluff upon which a large house loomed. It might have been a fine home once, but it was dilapidated and crumbling now. The garden was overgrown with thorns, and the fence around it looked like broken teeth. There were no lights on in the house. It all looked uncannily familiar, and Harry felt a twinge in his scar.

"Am I still in the astral plane?" he asked Death.

**Yes, **came the answer, **but** **up ahead is your destination; Voldemort's mind.**

"But it's a house…is he inside it?"

**No. He *is* the house. You are inexperienced in mind-magic, Harry. It would be too difficult for you to reach into Voldemort's mind, undetected, and untangle the threads of thought and energy there in an abstract form. Instead, your mind has interpreted your efforts to link to Voldemort's mind as a walking journey, following a trail.**

"Then those things I passed…they weren't real?"

**They were very real. Fae are creatures of mind and spirit. One is liable to encounter them on any journey of the psyche.**

Harry didn't quite understand this, but decided not to press the point. He began to climb the bluff, panting a little in the chill night air. As he neared the top, the sense of familiarity grew, as did the burning sensation in his scar. "I know this place," he said, half to himself.

**Indeed you do,** answered Thanatos, **You have been here in dreams. This is Voldemort's mind, but you seem to have chosen to reinterpret it as the Riddle Mansion.**

Author's Note: At least three more chapters to come! I know where I'm going, I just need to fill in the details.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Legion: Ships? Hmm… 'Unwittingly, Hermione flirts with Death…' Heehee…no, no smoochy-face for Thanatos. I suppose the way he relates to Harry could be interpreted as mildly slashy, for people who like that sort of thing, but it's vague enough that people who don't can ignore it.

Confesser Kahlan: Thanks! I will.

Quoth the Raven: You get 100 cool points for understanding that Mateo really was there, rather than just messing with the minds of everyone in the school. Yes, four years isn't that long to wait, and a little alteration of the local reality isn't difficult for Death at all. I'm glad you appreciated the section with AHMS as well.

Kandra: *grin * I was wondering if anyone would think that about Thanatos. I have to admit, he's the sort of character I'm drawn to myself. I'm glad you like him, and thank you for the reassurance about the AHMS section.

Thall: Umm…okay. o_O

Ozma: I think AHMS is probably fairly rare, but the effects are pretty devastating. I enjoyed writing everyone's reaction to Poppy's suggestion that it was a possibility. I don't think Snape hates Harry as much as he wants to pretend he does, but with his reaction I was mostly going for a sort of 'I-wouldn't-wish-that-on-my-worst-enemy' sort of thing. I suspect, though, that Harry would be pretty well immune to it, since both his parents were wizards and he lived with them until he was a year or so old. That ought to be enough to inoculate him against high magic levels, even though he spent the next ten years with Muggles.

Stormyfire: Thank you! I hope you continue to love it. I always look forward to your reviews, just so you know. J 

Moon Kitten, Koneko-chan: Kittens shouldn't have too much sugar, it makes them break things. ;-) Glad you liked the story.

Windflower: Your idea sounds interesting; I'll be sure to check out your story when I get a chance to do some reading. You'll probably like the next few chapters; though they don't deal with the four elements literally, I'll be using a lot of elemental imagery and metaphors. The next chapter will be 'The Death of Earth'.

Smitha-r: Yes, this is a fifth year fic. I'm trying to crank out all my 5th-year ideas before the next book comes out, but I don't know if I'll make it. I guess they can always be AU. Revelationary…I like that. Thank you!


	4. Death of Earth

Death of Earth

A/N: In which the author commences with the heavy symbolism. Disclaimer from earlier chapters still applies. I'd sort of like to claim the Heiress of Slytherin as my own idea, but I'm not sure I can entirely. Anyway, I rather like her. I should have mentioned this before, too: this is very nearly as much as T.S. Eliot fanfic as a Harry Potter fanfic. I've used his poetry as inspiration and backdrop. All of it is, I presume, copyright his estate. Anyway, I didn't write it. I'm really not a good poet.

Extra thanks to Nemi for beta-reading and providing inspiration.

There are flood and drouth

Over the eyes and in the mouth,

Dead water and dead sand

Contending for the upper hand.

The parched eviscerate soil

Gapes at the vanity of toil,

Laughs without mirth.

This is the death of earth.

__

~T.S. Eliot, 'Four Quartets', 'Little Gidding'

Harry pushed through the broken slats of the picket fence. On the other side was an overgrown, rocky garden. Everything in it seemed to be dead and brown, and dust rose in clouds every time he took a step.

"Where do I get in," he asked Thanatos, looking at the boarded-up windows of the house.

**Circle the house. Somewhere you should be able to find an opening.**

Skeptical but willing, Harry climbed over the trunk of a fallen tree. It crumbled beneath him, depositing him in a heap into a bed of withered lilies. They were grey-white, and seemed almost mummified. He touched one, and it fell to dust.

**I do not recommend that,** Thanatos said, **You will encounter resistance in one form or another. Any object here might be a danger to you. You are in hostile territory.**

"Everything here represents something, though, right? I mean, it's my mind interpreting? So what are the flowers?"

**Potential, perhaps. Lilies that fester…** Death replied cryptically. 

This didn't help Harry much, so he got up and moved on.

He found there was, after all, one thing very much alive in the garden: a vast network of evil briars that sprung up now and then when he was least prepared for them. They tore his clothing and skin and refused to break. He was involved in escaping from a patch of these when Thanatos tugged at his attention.

****

I remember her…I am amazed he does as well.

Harry staggered free of the brambles and looked up. Around the corner ahead of him he could see what looked like marble steps, white and gleaming faintly even in the dark. Around them curled a few climbing-rose vines. They were alive, and quite possibly the source of the wicked thorns that had been impeding him, but next to the marble pedestal they looked softer and more innocuous. The stems were very green, and the blossoms were silver. Harry's eyes traveled up the steps to a shell-like arch of alabaster over which a curtain of light seemed to hang. Behind the curtain stood a woman.

Drawn by the light, Harry approached the steps.

****

Be wary, Thanatos warned, but he, too, seemed curious.

The rose vines rustled at his approach, but they did not seek to entangle him, nor did they withdraw. He stepped over them carefully, advancing up the steps until the woman was clearly visible.

She was very beautiful. She was quite tall, with a delicate, willowy figure. Her cheekbones were high and angular, but she had a gentle, rosy mouth and serious, intelligent dark eyes. Her hair was long and curly, a brown so deep it was nearly black. She was dressed in a bell-shaped skirt in many shades of green, over which she wore a corset in a snakeskin pattern. She had no shirt on, and as the corset did not reach her chest, her breasts were bare. Blushing fiercely, Harry looked down and noticed that she held a writhing silver serpent in each hand. They glared at him with beady, bright eyes.

He whispered to Thanatos, "Who is she?"

****

An echo. Harry, you know that your mother left a powerful protection in your veins by giving her life for you…

"Yes…"

****

Voldemort's--or, rather, Tom Riddle's--mother died in childbirth. She, too, gave her life that he might live.

"She's…his mother…?"

The snakes hissed.

****

The personification, rather, of the protection his mother left behind. She was a great Lady, the Heiress of Slytherin. Show her respect. You will not get into his mind except through her.

Harry advanced the rest of the way up the steps slowly, tensing as the snakes in the woman's hands became increasingly agitated. At the top of the pedestal, he sank to one knee.

"What do you seek here, Lion-cub?" the voice came not from the Heiress but from the left-hand snake.

"I…I'm here to free Thanatos," he stammered, looking up.

The curtain of light parted and the woman stepped through, holding the snakes high. Her face was cold and stern now. The expression combined with the sense of power coiling and uncoiling within her reminded Harry of Albus Dumbledore when he was angry.

****

Stand your ground, Thanatos said quietly.

"Liar," hissed the right-hand snake, "You are here to take knowledge from my son's mind."

"I have to," Harry said, "He's trying to control Death."

"To practice healing is to try to control Death," the left-hand snake said reasonably, "to seek survival is to try to control Death. To defend oneself against an enemy is to try to control Death. To be human is to try to control Death. You would deny Tom Riddle this right?"

"He doesn't go by that name anymore," Harry said quietly.

"That is not your concern," snapped the right-hand snake.

"And he's not human anymore," Harry added, "not really."

"Do you dare insult my child to his mother's face?!" The right-hand snake lashed out at him with its fangs.

Harry jumped back just in time to save his eye. But the rose-briars surged up the steps toward him, binding his arms to his sides, the thorns digging into him.

"I know you, Lion-cub," the left-hand snake remained calm, even thoughtful, craning its neck forward. Its tongue flickered across Harry's forehead, tasting the scar. It drew back abruptly.

"You should," Harry said, "Lord Voldemort's tried to kill me four times."

"My son," the left-hand snake hissed softly, "is not a murderer…no." It sounded deeply grieved.

"No," agreed the right-hand snake, "if he tried to kill this boy, the boy surely deserved it. Perhaps we should finish the job." The snake regarded Harry with malice.

Harry flinched as the thorns tightened around him, "Thanatos…"

****

Stay calm…they cannot kill you.

The young wizard took a deep breath, eyeing the woman's face, then the left-hand snake, "You can't have wanted this for him. What he's become."

"He was a good boy…so clever…" the left-hand snake curled up the Heiress' arm as if trying to escape, but the pale, slender hand did not release it.

"Who are you to tell us what we wanted?" the right-hand snake said sullenly. "You do not know us. You do not know our son."

"He has made mistakes," the left-hand snake admitted softly.

"Mistakes?!" It was Harry's turn to lose his temper, "Killing innocent people is more than just a mistake! Look around you! Look at this place! It's rotting from within!"

"Shut up!" both snakes howled together. The thorns whipped around Harry's neck, cutting the skin. He felt a few drops of blood roll down, soaking into his collar. The woman turned away.

****

Do not move…the thorns are close to your windpipe, Thanatos said tensely. **If your astral body sustains such damage, it will spread to your brain.**

Harry lay frozen for a long moment, then spoke again, carefully. "I'm sorry," he told the woman, and meant it. "He's done you wrong, too."

"Do not speak to us." The left-hand snake's voice was cracked with sorrow, "You have no right. No right."

"Yes I do. I'm one of his victims. He'll kill me, sooner or later, if you don't let me in. If you won't let me do this."

The Heiress looked at him, anguish intermingling with the sternness in her expression. "He is my son," the left-hand snake said, "How can I let you in? What word can you give me that means more than the blood-bond I share with him?"

Harry met her eyes, "In the name of Lily Potter, who died innocent to protect her son from yours. You're a mother. You can understand that love better than I can. Better than he can."

The woman's breath hitched, and she turned to stare at him.

"In my mother's name," he repeated, "let me go. Let me do what I came to do."

The dark eyes flooded with tears, and the snakes curled limply around her arms. She nodded slowly and spoke for the first time, "Go quickly. Do not make him suffer." The thorns released him.

Harry stood a little tremulously, rubbing his torn neck, and bowed. "Thank you."

She shook her head, "Don't thank me. Just go."

As Harry backed away, he heard Thanatos chanting softly in his mind, **Lady of Silences**

Calm and distressed

Torn and most whole

Rose of memory, Rose of forgetfulness

Exhausted and life-giving

Worried Reposeful…

Grace to the Mother

For the Garden

Where all love ends.

"Go," said the Heiress again. She pointed at the wall of the house, and a door appeared.

The young wizard took one last look at her, then ran down the steps and through the door.

****

Well done, said Death.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"I don't understand, though," Harry told Thanatos as he walked through the empty, dusty hall of the Riddle House, "If it's *my* mind interpreting, how did I know what *his* mother looked like?"

****

Because he remembers, and he has seen pictures. You have shared his power, after the first time he tried to murder you. And he has since shared your blood. You are part of one another, like it or not.

Harry stood still. "No we're not."

Thanatos was silent for a long moment, then said, **You are his nemesis, Harry. That is why I chose you.**

"He's no part of me. I'm not like him."

****

In the ways that count, no. You are not. Nor will you ever be. The dark voice was sad and gentle.

Harry walked on again, saying nothing for several moments, "What else will I see like he sees it? Will I see myself the way he sees me?"

****

I do not know. I hope not.

"Will I be able to see things my own way after this? Will I go back to normal?"

Thanatos did not answer, and after a moment's thought, Harry realized he did not want him to.

The halls were long and tortuous and seemed devoid of life, but they seemed to be changing as he moved deeper into the house. At first they had been torn and water stained wallpaper over plaster, but soon they became battered, splintery wood. Harry could see pictures of children and framed samplers with Biblical verses on them, and he wondered if this was what the orphanage Tom had grown up in looked like. In a chipped oak frame there was a watercolor of Jesus surrounded by small, sandal-footed children. It read: 'Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of God. Mark 10:14'. The glass was shattered over the face of one little dark-haired boy. Harry felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach. He wondered if the orphanage was really this bad, or if it was just Tom's perception.

The hall opened out into a room full of small, neat cots. A boy of about six years sat on the edge of one. He was tall for his age, but spindly and a bit sickly-looking. His feet would have touched the floor if he hadn't had his ankles crossed and his knees pressed together. He was looking at his feet, and Harry could not see his face, but he assumed this was Tom Marvolo Riddle, as he was as a little boy. A heavyset, red-faced man loomed over him, shaking a slightly crumpled piece of paper at him. On it was a childlike crayon drawing of the Heiress, dressed in green, her hair long and loose. She had white wings and a yellow halo around her head. She also had a black and grey serpent entwined around her waist.

"It's my Mum," the child said calmly.

"You've told me that," barked the man, "I asked why you drew her with a snake?"

"I like snakes. I bet she liked them, too. I had a dream once. She was in it, talking to one."

"Snakes don't talk," the man growled.

It reminded Harry of his Uncle Vernon telling him that motorbikes do not fly.

"I bet they do in Heaven. Mum's in Heaven. I bet she gets to talk to snakes whenever she wants."

"There are no snakes in Heaven! Snakes are a symbol of Satan!"

"Why did Jesus compare them to Himself, then?"

"What?"

"'And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.'" Tom quoted, looking up with a little smirk on his face. "John, Chapter 3, verses 14 and 15."

The man said nothing for a long moment, his face getting redder.

Tom looked back down. "I like snakes."

"Your mother had you out of wedlock," the older man said softly, but with venom, "That's a sin. She's not in Heaven." 

The little boy twitched as if he'd been slapped, but did not look up again.

The older man crumpled the paper and dropped it on the floor, then left the room. Little Tom watched him go with narrowed, gleaming eyes.

****

He hated this place, Thanatos told Harry quietly.

"I would have, too," Harry moved quietly around the child and took the same door out of the room that the older man had. He'd never felt lucky to be living with the Dursleys before.

As they moved on, the halls went from wood to stone, and Harry recognized the damp, cool scents of Hogwarts. He passed through classrooms, dormitories, bathrooms, and the Great Hall. It all looked much the same as it did in his own time; maybe just a little less weathered. He saw a few students, moving past him like ghosts. He thought he caught a glimpse of young Hagrid, hulking and clumsy and brown as earth. He saw Headmaster Dippet as a faint, watery yellow shade, and then a red-gold light broke over him, and he winced, pressing against the wall. The blaze hurt his eyes, but if he squinted at it through cupped hands he could just barely make out what looked like a pair of beating wings, and a tall, male figure shadowed against them. "What is that?!" he breathed.

****

Look closer, Death told him, **look with your own eyes.**

Harry rubbed his face a moment, eyes closed, then tried again, and gasped. It was Albus Dumbledore, auburn-haired and straight-backed, in the prime of his life. He was robed in grey, and on his shoulder Fawkes was perched, gleaming like an ember.

****

Albus has gained much skill since his youth, Death said, **but he has lost some of the raw energy he once possessed. Not all, and never enough that he should be taken lightly, but…**

Dumbledore turned to look at Harry, and he was reminded of his expression when he had interrogated young Barty Crouch. He looked wise and stern: fierce as flame, strong as stone, swift as air, subtle as water.

****

Voldemort knew even then that Dumbledore was a wizard to be reckoned with.

Harry watched as the apparition of Albus turned away and moved on. "Voldemort still fears him?"

****

Oh, yes. With good reason.

Harry moved on, but he felt the red-gold glow behind him, heating his back like the sun on a summer's day. He felt relieved when he turned the corner and entered the next room. It was cool and lit only by a faint aqua light reflecting off of pools of water scattered haphazardly across the floor. Harry breathed a sigh of relief that caught in his throat as he realized where he was. An enormous statue of Salazar Slytherin loomed before him. He was in the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom Marvolo Riddle stood at the statue's foot, silhouetted against the gleaming granite. He was shaking, but the air sang with his joy, and Harry felt himself infected with it. Before he could stop himself he had run up behind his archenemy to stare into Slytherin's carven face.

****

Harry…remember where you are.

The young wizard's heart fluttered, "Home…" he replied. "We're home…he…"

Tom Riddle fell to his knees, and Harry followed unconsciously, his green eyes blazing. The statue's face no longer seemed to him to be twisted with hate and bitterness. It seemed to glow with approbation. _Home_, it said silently, and _family_.

"This is where I belong," Tom said next to him, and Harry felt himself nod with agreement.

****

Harry…you are not Tom Riddle. You are not the Heir of Slytherin.

Harry wrapped his arms around himself stubbornly, trying to hold onto the joy. Next to him, the young Heir cried, "Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts' Four!" It came out in the bubbling hiss of Parseltongue, and the stone mouth ground slowly open.

Tom gasped and cried out with delight as something moved within the statue. The Basilisk was coming.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling caught between Tom's joy, Thanatos' quiet logic, and his own fearful memories of the giant serpent. But when the beast hit the floor, shaking the rock, he looked again. The King of Serpents was circling them, coiling tighter and tighter around Tom. Its great yellow eyes were closed, to protect its new master, and it was making a low thrumming sound, like a giant cat purring. At length it came to a halt and rested its chin in the lap of the astonished Tom Riddle, eyes still tight-shut. "Master…" it hissed, "At last! At last you've come for me…"

Hesitantly, Tom reached to stroke the scaly muzzle, and tears flooded his eyes as the serpent trembled with joy. "You and I," he said softly in Parseltongue, "We are going to do great things together."

"Yes!" The snake's tail twitched excitedly. "Yes! I 've waited so long! Let me kill for you, master…"

Tears pricked at Harry's eyes. "I killed it…" he reached to run his fingers over the diamond-hard skin.

He jumped when Thanatos answered him gently, **It would have killed you if you hadn't.**

"I…didn't know…I mean…it's just an attack dog, isn't it? It wouldn't have hurt anyone if it hadn't been ordered to…"

**An attack dog…that is an apt analogy, I suppose**, Death said dispassionately, **However, it would have had to eat regardless. I suspect if it had been left masterless in Hogwarts Castle it would have devoured much of the student population. Basilisks, while they are animals, and think like animals, are not naturally occurring creatures. Therefore, they are dangerous and prone to cause disruptions in the Balance.**

Harry stroked the gleaming scales a moment. His sense of logic was returning to him slowly, and the manic joy fading away. Still, the regret lingered, and as he stood to leave, he glanced longingly at Slytherin's statue.

**Come, Harry. Your home is elsewhere.**

"He isn't human anymore," Harry said quietly, "but he was once…"

**Yes**, there was a note of grief in Death's voice as well, **he was**.

Harry didn't remember much else of the journey deeper into the mansion. He passed walls of stone, brick, wood, plaster. He crossed rivers and fields, and once he thought he saw the arching dome of a monastery. The house was bigger inside than it was on the outside. But that was to be expected, as the same is true of the mind.

After what seemed like hours, or maybe even years, Harry came to a long hall lined with framed portraits. The carpet here was deep blood-red, and the walls were white as bone, but green light showed through cracks in the ceiling.

**You are close**, Death said softly.

Harry looked at the first portrait and started at the familiarity of the face. It was a girl wearing thick glasses. Her hair was limp and dark, her eyes empty and sad, her lips down-turned in a pout, and her skin was speckled with acne.

"Myrtle?" He exclaimed. "Moaning Myrtle?"

**Yes…his first kill. He stared at her body afterwards, for over an hour, before Olive Hornby found her…**

Harry felt a chill. "His first…then all these people…??"

**Are those he has murdered. Yes.**

Harry started purposefully down the hall, scanning the portraits. Myrtle's was the most lucid. The others were blurry, or too dark, or overexposed, with only parts of them coming across clearly; eyes mostly, or clenched hands, or lips parted in screams.

**I advise you not to look**, Death told him.

"My parents," he said softly. "I want to see."

**At the moment of their deaths? Are you quite certain?**

"I don't care. I want to see them. I've heard them scream, how much worse can it be?"

Thanatos was silent.

A portrait close to the end of the hall caught his eye, and he rushed toward it, gripping the frame and pulling it off the wall. It was a man with wild dark hair: James Potter. A green glare was reflected in the lenses of his askew glasses, and his eyes could not be seen. But his mouth was set in a line of grim determination, and his bloodied hand still clutched a broken wand. Harry sat on the carpet and stared into the picture greedily.

**He died well, for what it is worth.**

"It's not worth much," Harry said bitterly, running his fingers over the blurred lines of his father's face. After a moment he asked, "Do I really look like him?"

**Yes and no. He was a good man; pleasant, friendly, clever. But you have several times the power he was gifted with, for one reason or another. Perhaps another human would not notice this, but I see it in you very clearly. Very clearly…**

Harry clutched at the portrait a little. "I can't take it with me, can I?"

**It is a memory, Harry. You already have.**

The young wizard nodded and stood, looking for his mother's portrait. It was, as he expected, right next to his father's. It was overexposed, vivid and bright. She seemed to be in motion, her hair waving wildly behind her like a crimson flag. But her face was turned away, and he could only barely make out the flicker of her eyelashes above the curve of her cheek. Her skin was gleaming white, as if she were glowing with some inner light.

"She looks like an angel," he observed softly.

**She was trying to reach your crib.**

Harry touched the image of the fiery strands of hair. "It isn't fair."

**It never is.**

"Have I ever really cried for them?"

**You were too young to understand.**

He nodded slowly, then carefully re-hung his father's portrait. After a moment, he leaned forward and kissed his mother's image on the cheek impulsively.

Next to his mother there was a blank space. "I was supposed to go here."

**Yes…he has not filled that space. But he has reserved another place for you, should he manage to destroy you yet.**

Harry glanced over and saw an empty frame at the end of the hall. It was twice the size of the others. He moved toward it hesitantly, glancing at the remaining few portraits. Some he recognized, but one was missing. "Cedric," he choked, stopping in his place, "Why isn't Cedric here?"

**Because Voldemort did not kill him. Wormtail did.**

"Under his orders!" A hot rush of fury and despair filled the young wizard, "And he doesn't even care! He doesn't even remember what he looked like!" His fists clenched, and angry tears sprang to his eyes.

**Peter Pettigrew does. He will never forget.**

"It's not right…he should remember, too…he should know…" his voice dropped to a whisper, "*I* remember…"

There was a moment of silence, then Thanatos said quietly, **Your mind is touching his. If you wish, you can leave him that memory.**

Harry placed his palms against the wall. "How? Tell me how."

**Remember.**

Harry slid to a seat on the floor. "He was a good Seeker…he had brown hair and his eyes were blue. Everyone called him Pretty-Boy Diggory. Except the other Hufflepuffs, I mean. And…Cho."

**Go on.**

"And I liked him. I didn't want to. But he was the kind of person you can't really dislike. You could envy him, but you couldn't dislike him, because…he was just so bloody NICE and he NEVER did anything to ANYONE and IT ISN'T FAIR!" His voice rose to a shout, and he clenched his fists in his hair, rocking slightly and trying not to cry. He had never cried for his parents properly. He mustn't cry for Cedric before he'd cried for his parents. "And he just…_died_…he didn't even get a chance to do anything brave first. He just died. He looked surprised…and his arms were out…"

The tears broke free in a sudden violent flood, and Harry felt a wave of power rip through him at the same time, but he didn't care. He just sat with his hands clutching at his hair, rocking and crying silently for several minutes. At last, Thanatos' voice entered his mind again, gently.

**It is done. Harry, look.**

Harry took a deep breath and looked up slowly. In front of him, the wall was marked brown and black, as if it had been burned. As he studied the burns, they resolved themselves into an image of Cedric, sprawled lifeless on the grass. Harry shuddered, but it was what he had wanted, so he rose slowly, steadying himself as best he could, and walked the rest of the way down the hall, past the empty frame, and into a long, dark stairwell.

**Are you all right, Harry?**

"I'm…fine. Sorry." He suddenly realized he had cried in front of Death twice tonight. Three times, if you counted his reaction to the Basilisk.

**Do not be sorry. I have seen both grief and remorse before. They are pure emotions, and I honor them both. But I must tell you, Harry…there is more anger in you than I realized, more than appears on the surface. Thus far it has been turned to righteous causes, but you must be careful. Power and anger can be a dangerous combination. Do not let your own emotions master you.**

Harry took a deep breath, nodding. "I'll be careful." He studied the stairs. "Do I go up? Or down?"

**Up. You are seeking access to his knowledge. Memories are the earth from which the mind grows. Knowledge is the air that blows across the mind, giving it form.**

The young wizard began to mount the stairs slowly. "I'm tired. How long have I been gone?"

** Only an hour or so. Thought travels quickly.**

"Why--" Harry began, but the rest of his question was lost in a cry of fear. There was a rumbling in the stairwell, and the ground shook beneath his feet. He clutched at the wall; there was no banister. "Thanatos! What's happening?"

**Hold on, Harry**, Death shouted back, as if from a great distance,** and prepare to defend yourself. Voldemort knows you are here!**

A/N: Deliberate cliffhanger. You may throw things at me at your discretion. I will dodge as best I can.

Boy, that turned out long. I couldn't find any reference to Cedric's hair and eye color, so forgive me if I've gotten it wrong. And correct me, so's I can fix it.

Um. I had lots to say about this chapter, but writing it wiped me out. Let me just reiterate that I like the Heiress and am considering writing a fic(let) just for her.

Wave at the Beta-dragon, and fellow Death Slasher; Nemi

Thanks to all reviewers!

Double thanks to repeat reviewers!

Triple thanks to—you get the idea.

Windflower: Haven't gotten many chances to read yet, but you're still on my list. Thanks for the review, and I'm glad you like Thanatos.

Kandra: I have Harry's reward well worked out already, actually, but I don't dare give it away. I have a couple sketches of Thanatos I've drawn. I'd upload them, but the last time I tried to put up a URL, the whole document went screwy, so I'm not sure how to make them available. Anyway, glad you like him. ;-)

Talyra: *blush * Thank you! Um…the Max Payne comment goes right over my head. But the bold was actually my way of indicating telepathy. I'd do the block caps, but I'm not sure it would carry over in html format, and if I wrote his dialogue in all caps…well, people would wonder why he shouted all the time. ;-) Anyway, you get your wish, because I was planning on using bold through the rest of the story. ^_^

Quoth the Raven: Exactly my thoughts. I wanted enough indication of distance between them to provide Harry a safe 'quarantine'. I'm glad the Riddle Mansion isn't too cliché as a destination. I was afraid it might be too obvious. I think my idea there was that it would be a place that was relatively familiar to both Harry and Voldemort.

Stormyfire: Actually, I have a pretty clear basic outline for the shape of the story, and a few mental notes of scenes and points I want to make. Aside from that, I'm kind of BS-ing it. Still, it's gotten more pre-planning than Pig in a Wig. When it comes to plot, I'm usually just lucky. ^_^;; I'm glad you think Harry's realistic. I think I've had him cry too much, but I'm going to try and remedy that next chapter.

Atalante: Um…wow. That's quite a compliment. I'm glad you like the story. I don't know that it's *that * unique, but I'll take all the praise I can get regardless. ^_~

He_who_must_not_be_named: Well, now I've continued. *pokes at your mind * ;-)

Smitha-r: I am quietly rereading 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' as reference for the appearance of the Avada Kedavra, but that's all I'm going to say about that. Thank you for the encouragement.

Ozma: I like the idea of a compassionate Death. Someone who does what s/he has to do, but who really knows what it's like to be human and cares about all the people who live and die. I really like the Death in the Sandman series, and Mulberry, who I've mentioned in your LJ, and the Pale Slayer in Deep Wizardry by Diane Duane. You know, it never occurred to me that the owner of the shirt might be Molly. I wish it had, I'd have left it ambiguous longer. ::tries to look innocent:: Have I mentioned I have a thing for phookas? I'm glad you liked mine. ;-)

Nemi: *waves enthusiastically * Honestly, we've discussed this enough that I'm not sure I need to reply to you much in my responses here. But I'm glad my additions of fae lore went over well. Thanks for the support and all your help!

Moon Kitten, Koneko-chan: Glad you liked the chapter. Hope the update came soon enough!


	5. Death of Water and Fire

A/N: Well, this has always been 5th Year AU, so OoTP doesn't affect it much. (If I had set it after the end of OoTP, I think Harry would have had a few more questions for Thanatos) Anyway, readers may rest assured that there will be no significant spoilers in this chapter, nor in those that follow.

Disclaimer from previous chapters still applies.

__

Water and fire succeed

The town, the pasture and the weed.

Water and fire deride

The sacrifice that we denied.

Water and fire shall rot

The marred foundations we forgot,

Of sanctuary and choir.

This is the death of water and fire.

"Defend myself?!" Harry shouted, clinging desperately as the staircase rolled and writhed beneath him. "How? I don't have my wand!"

Thanatos voice was suddenly soft, as if he were whispering in his ear. **What is magic, Harry?**

The young wizard did not answer, distracted by the texture of the stairs beneath his palms. It was changing, becoming cooler and bumpier.

****

Magic is will. That is all. All humans impose their will upon the world around them. Only, the wizard does so through more extraordinary means than most mortals.

Scales! The bumps under his fingers were scales, poisonous green and glittering! The angles of the individual steps grew more and more obtuse, until there were no steps at all, only a long ramp of chilly scales. Harry began to slide slowly downwards into darkness. "Thanatos!"

****

You need no wand, Harry. A metallic tang in Death's voice was the only sign of his mounting anxiety.** Your will is no less strong than his.**

He was falling. He couldn't hold onto those smooth scales. He looked over his shoulder, and far below him he could see a diamond-shaped head and two vast globes of yellow light. He was clinging to the back of a giant Basilisk, sliding inexorably down toward its deadly jaws. His eyes slammed shut.

****

Listen to me, Harry! Death's voice was harsh now, grating and painful in his head. **Fight him!**

Harry gasped and opened his eyes again, looking just long enough to see the serpent's mouth open in preparation to receive its prey. Each fang was easily as long as Harry's body. The young wizard began to slide downward more quickly. Was his weight increasing? His limbs felt heavier, his fingers less dexterous. He looked at his hands. The skin was turning gray and losing its luster. He was being petrified.

****

Harry Potter! The cry was accompanied by a kind of telepathic blow. ** How dare you panic? You are a Gryffindor!**

The young wizard bit his lip until he drew blood, closing his eyes again, then in a sudden flash of inspiration thrust his now-stiffened fingers into the Basilisk's skin. With a sharp crunching noise, Harry's nails pierced the scales and burrowed into the flesh beneath. The hiss of pain below him sounded like a waterfall. His descent halted, but the heavy, dead feeling of muscle freezing up continued to creep up his legs and down his arms.

The serpentine body beneath him shifted, muscles tightening as the Basilisk raised its massive head and curved its long neck around to reach the clinging boy. He was helpless. It would be over in only a moment.

__

Help! He thought frantically at Thanatos, at anyone who might be listening, _Help me!_

Death said nothing. Nothing at all. In the dark distance, Harry heard the heavy beating of wings.

Harry's eyes popped open as he remembered his battle in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Fawkes!" He shouted.

The familiar chiming notes of Phoenix-song rang through Harry's mind and quivered along every nerve of his half-petrified body. But, though he strained his eyes against the surrounding blackness, no red-gold gleam heralded the approach of his previous savior.

Harry shut his eyes again as the hot breath of the basilisk seared his feet. "Fawkes, please!" he whispered.

The song swelled, vibrating all over his body, and a sudden fierce pain tore through him. He cried out, certain the serpent had him. His scar was on fire.

And then he felt his bones shift, lengthening, growing hollow. His lips were gone, something sharp and hard in their place. His eyes flew open, and everything looked different, sharper and clearer. His hands slipped free of the basilisk's flesh as feathers sprouted from his arms, blossoming red and gold. To keep from falling, he dug his feet, his _talons_ into the serpent's hide.

The fanged head drew back, a look of startled surprise in the huge yellow eyes. Harry tried to call out to Death once more, but a burst of wild golden song broke free instead, and he suddenly understood.

He _was_ the phoenix.

Harry pushed off the basilisk's side, tearing the scales as he did so. He flung his wings open, catching a rising draft of warm air, spiraled up and up and up…and then folded the wings against his sides with a snap and plummeted down toward the serpentine head, needle-sharp gold beak leading.

And with a snap and a thunderous hiss, the basilisk vanished, leaving the stairs in its place once more.

Harry braked with wings and tail, landing on the stairs with a thump, and sat a moment, panting.

****

Well done, said Death's soft voice.

"Fat lot of help you were," Harry tried to say indignantly, but it came out as a plaintive trill.

Thanatos sent him a wave of mixed irritation and amusement. **I cannot tell you how to fight your battles, Harry. I warned you of the danger. And what if I had said to you, 'transform into a phoenix'? Do you think you would have been able to do so on my word?**

Harry didn't have an answer for this, so he changed the subject, "Am I stuck like this?" The song was a mournful, rippling cry.

****

Of course not. You shifted yourself. You can shift back. But I advise you to remain in that form for now. He will attack again.

"Then I suppose I had better keep moving," Harry looked up the long flight of stairs a moment, then walked to the edge and leaped off, catching another draft and rising upward with a flap of his wings.

Flying, he found, was difficult work, particularly when you were trying to gain altitude, and he had to alight and rest often. But at the same time, the feeling of being airborne was glorious beyond any physical sensation he had ever known. "Will I be able to do this in real life?" He cried out to Thanatos in a rush of music, "Does this mean I'm an animagus?"

****

I'm afraid not, Harry, Death sounded amused, **If you had merely undergone an animagic transformation, you would not automatically know how to fly. With practice, you may learn to take a similar form in 'real life', as you put it, but I would not count on your natural animagus form being a phoenix. It is rare for animagi to take the forms of supernatural creatures. Although… **Death added softly, **a phoenix is rather appropriate for you, I think.**

If his beak could have formed the expression, Harry would have beamed at the compliment, but any reply he might have made was cut off by a sudden icy pain on the back of his neck. He made a musical sound of distress, his flight faltering momentarily.

****

What is it, Harry?

"Something hit me…cold…the…air currents are changing…" the thermals beneath his wings were growing weaker and chillier, and Harry was forced to flap harder to keep aloft. A sudden blast of cold air blew him away from the steps, and he cried out with surprised pain. "The cold! It hurts!"

****

You are a phoenix--you are elementally opposed to the cold in this form. Quickly, get to the steps and shift back!

Wordlessly, Harry fought against the cold air, beating his wings wildly, trying to ignore the stabs of icy pain that began to pelt his neck and back. In the gloom he could see glimmers of soft white drifting downward around him. Snow. It was snowing.

The snowflakes fell thicker and faster, and the wind drove them into his face. They stung his eyes, leaving him blinded and in agony. He struggled to keep aloft, buffeted by the storm. "I can't! I can't reach the stairs!"

****

Try to shift again, Death called over the howling wind.

"Into what?? No bird could fly in this wind!" His wings felt as though they were about to fall off, and he was rapidly losing altitude. There was an icy coating over his feathers. His fire was being extinguished.

Fire, he thought wildly, and cried out in desperation, "The Firebolt! Accio!"

His body shifted again, red gold feathers pouring off of him. They hovered in midair a moment, and he, in his ordinary human form now, began to plummet. The feathers floating above him melded into one clean line of fiery red, which quickly sprouted the flawlessly tapered bristles of his racing broom.

"Accio!" He shouted again, hoping the spell would work without his wand. The broom's fore-end dipped, and it dove toward him, looping up under his stomach. He struck it with bruising force, doubling over it and clutching the handle. It felt hot beneath his fingers.

He wheezed for a moment, the breath having been knocked out of him, then slung his leg over the handle, settling in the proper flying position. The wind and snow still buffeted him, but now the cold was not so painful. He had flown in bad weather before.

Harry bent low over the broomstick and began to spiral upward again, slicing determinedly through the gale. His chest and ribs hurt.

****

Good…very good… Thanatos' voice was a little weaker than usual, and he sounded relieved. **I think you had better land, Harry, and exit the stairwell. You are too exposed here.**

"I think I've broken something," Harry rasped, landing clumsily on the stairs, which were now slick with ice.

****

Are you in much pain?

He leaned on his broom a little, "I need a rest."

****

Not here. Push on the wall at the next landing. With any luck, there will be a door.

The young wizard crept cautiously up the next dozen stairs to the landing, then prodded the wall with the handle of his broom. The stones slid aside in a way reminiscent of the entrance to Diagon Alley. The hallway beyond was dark and warm. Harry stumbled into it gratefully and sank to the floor, clutching his side with one hand and the Firebolt with the other. The stones slid back into place behind him.

There was a long silence, then Thanatos said, **I am sorry, Harry. I had hoped you could reach your destination without being noticed by him. I did not intend for you to sustain such injury.**

"I think I've had worse. I play Quidditch, remember?" He managed a smile, recalling broken arms and 50-foot falls.

****

Perhaps. Can you go on? Death's voice was distant and dispassionate.

"Wouldn't it be just as hard to go back at this point?"

****

Yes and no. The choice is yours.

"I thought you said Voldemort would never be defeated if I didn't do this? That's not much of a choice if you ask me. You were all gung-ho to begin with, what's changed?"

****

I did not believe there was a serious risk to your life initially. You have already sustained significant astral damage, and you are in danger of receiving more. And you have told me to take you if you are injured to the point of insanity. I will be held by that oath. But I am Death, Harry. It is unfair for me to request that a mortal risk his life for my sake.

"Is that it?"

There was hesitation in Thanatos' voice. **I…have also attended school with you. I reordered reality so that you would not recall those years--they did not, in fact, happen to you--but I retain the memories of Mateo Theofanos, my avatar. You are a good friend, Harry. I would prefer not to see you…hurt beyond recall. Nor do I wish to take you so young.**

"Why didn't you let me live those years, too?" It wasn't fair, really, because in retrospect the stories he had heard from Ron and Hermione sounded rather pleasant. 

****

If you had remembered five years of my acquaintance, you would not have been easily convinced that I am Death. It was meant to be a sort of demonstration of power…evidence to convince you of the reality of the situation. I fear, however, that I miscalculated the impact on myself.

"How do you mean?"

****

The human that is touched by the Divine will never again be the same. In the same way, the Divine that has become human is altered permanently. But do not mistake me. I do not regret it, nor will I, unless it leads to permanent injury for you.

Harry was silent. There was reserved but sincere affection in Thanatos' voice, and it surprised him. "I…need to do this," he said at last. "Seeing my parents…and not seeing Cedric…made me realize how important this is. Besides, he's going to keep coming for me, isn't he? For whatever reason, he wants me dead. Even if I don't succeed here, I'll be seeing him again. And if I stay, I can learn more about him. Maybe it'll help when we meet again."

****

When… Thanatos sounded pensive. **Do you believe in Fate, Harry?**

"I don't think so. Not really. But I also don't believe Dumbledore can protect me forever. Sooner or later it'll end. Hopefully later, though, because I'll have a better chance against him as a grown wizard." He was silent a moment, "What about you? Do you believe in Fate?"

****

I know Fate personally. All three of Her. Unfortunately, Atropos is the only one who will speak to me about anything of significance.

Harry said nothing for a moment, then stood slowly, "I'm not even going to question that. I think I should get moving again."

****

Still in pain?

"A bit, but I'll manage. I've had worse." Using his broomstick as a support, Harry continued down the dark hall. "Where are we now?"

****

You are somewhere between Voldemort's memories and his thoughts.

"Like…his subconscious?"

****

Mmm…you might call it that.

"No wonder it's so dark…Thanatos? If I'm inside his mind, could I…you know…control it somehow?"

****

You wish to control the Darklord's mind? Death sounded very surprised.

"Maybe. If I could stop him killing people…or make him turn himself in, or…"

****

I would advise against the attempt. You have not the experience. Yet.

Harry started to answer, then paused as a chilly draft hit his face. He reached out with one hand and felt along the wall beside him. His fingers slipped over the edge of a doorway and felt nothing. He felt forward with his broom and encountered empty air below, as well. "It just…stops…I could have fallen…" he said weakly.

****

But you did not. Use the broom, since you still have it. Try casting a light-spell.

Harry mounted the Firebolt carefully, then pushed off the edge of the doorway into empty air. He paused a moment, hovering, then whispered uncertainly, "Lumos."

A ball of watery white light appeared over his right shoulder.

****

Nicely done, said Thanatos.

"Why does it work without a wand?" Harry asked. "Just because of will?"

****

Will and belief. They are much stronger forces than you may think. The latter, in fact, sustains most of the Personifications and demigods in existence, including myself.

"Belief does?"

****

Oh, yes. People would not cease to die if they did not believe in me, but I would cease to be…this. I would be a something, not a someone. And I would be far more terrifying and implacable as such. As long as mortals depict me as anything other than a simple force, whether it be a skeleton bearing a scythe, a black horse with bat's wings, or a pretty young woman wearing an ankh…as long as mortals see me as something akin to them, I am, in fact, akin. Nectar and ambrosia, the food of the Olympian gods, were not made from any corporeal substance, but the belief of the humans that worshipped them.

Harry was silent, taking this in as he flew slowly forward into the darkness. His light seemed to be doing little good; either it was too weak, or there was nothing around him to see.

****

And that is what makes Voldemort so dangerous. He believes himself a god. As for his Death-Eaters, Thanatos spoke the title with scorn, **they lend him power by their belief in him. This world needs no more devils.**

Harry nodded distractedly, then gasped as his light reflected off something ahead of him. It was a column of white bone, so long that both its upper and lower ends vanished into darkness. The young wizard circled it slowly. "What," he asked softly, "is this?"

****

Something that should not be trifled with, Death said calmly. **Pass it by, Harry.**

"No, wait…we're going up, right? It's so dark here I can't see where I'm going…if I just follow it up…" He urged the Firebolt upward, spiraling around the column.

****

I do not think you wish to see the rest of it. Can you extinguish your light? Fly blind?

"I might fly into it. I'm okay, Thanatos. After going through his memories, how much worse can it be?" Harry looked up and saw an odd growth coming off the bone like a fungus. It was slightly pinker than the column around which it grew. Above and below it, something dark red glistened.

****

Worse? I think not. Distracting, however. I would prefer that you did not--

"Merlin!" Harry gasped, "It's a giant *hand*!" As he drew closer to the pinkish growth, he could make out the pale sprouting hairs, the cracked fingernails, and the severed tendons hanging from where the wrist should have been. The column seemed to have been thrust through the hand, and there was dried blood on the skin and the bone. His stomach lurched. This hand…could it be some sort of simulacrum of Wormtail's sacrifice? Flesh, bone…and blood. His blood. He jerked the broom upward to see what lay on the palm, and felt Thanatos wince.

A man-sized sphere of something that looked almost like tinted red glass lay on the platform made by the hand. It, too, was pierced by the bone, and there was a figure moving within it. Harry approached cautiously and landed lightly on the thumb. Walking on the dead flesh was disturbing.

****

Please turn back, Harry. Death said, with little hope in his voice.

But Harry had caught a glimpse of a white gown and long red hair, and he ran forward, pressing his palms against the hard, hot surface of the red sphere. "Mum!" he exclaimed.

"Harry…?" the woman's voice was muffled, but she pushed against the side of the sphere to meet him, placing her palm on the red barrier across from his. Her eyes were bright green, with long lashes, like his. She looked only a few years older than he. "What are you doing here? This isn't safe!"

Rationally, he knew she wasn't really his mother. Like the Heiress he had met earlier, she was only the personification of the protection left behind by a willing sacrifice. Still, his heart swelled with awe and joy as he stared raptly into her worried face. "Mum," he whispered again, "I didn't know you were here…"

A/N: Much thanks to all those who reviewed! I'd like to apologize for the lateness of this update, and for not including responses to reviews. I've been a bit overwhelmed with creative projects (actually, this is usually the case), and I also wanted to take a bit of time to give OoTP a good, thorough reading to pick up on foreshadowing and nuances therein. I was a bit shaken by the character death, as well, as the deceased was one of my favorites. I won't go into specifics here, though I suspect anyone out reading fanfic has finished the book by now, or at least heard rumors enough to be immune to spoilers.

I actually completed this chapter a few weeks ago, but I hadn't posted it because I wanted to respond to reviews as usual. Well, time has gone by and I haven't found time for detailed responses yet, and it occurred to me that most reviewers would probably prefer a new chapter as soon as possible. To those who feel differently, let me apologize again. I intend to continue to respond to reviews, as I think the dialogue between writers and readers is one of the best aspect of ff.net and similar fiction sites, but just this once, it's not going to happen. If there's a question you've left in your last review that you still want addressed, feel free to reiterate it in another review, or to email me, and I'll answer it next update (or email you back).

But to answer a question I've gotten repeatedly (because I'm a slow updater to begin with and I've been even slower than usual lately): Yes, I intend to continue this story all the way to the end. It may take me a very long time at this rate, but I haven't given up. Moreover, if I do give up I'll post an author's note to that effect. So be of good cheer and don't despair and all that. ;-)

A couple readers have noted similarities between this story and Neil Gaiman's Sandman series. I can't help but be flattered by the comparison. I've read most of the Sandman comics (in the form of trade paperbacks pilfered from my girlfriend's bookshelf). The parallels here are unintentional (or at least subconscious), but probably inevitable considering the power of Gaiman's characters and storytelling, and the fact that I'm writing about a personified Death. So I hereby acknowledge my creative debt. And anyone who hasn't read the Sandman really should. ^_^


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